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POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 



POEMS OP PASSION 
POEMS OP PLEASURE 
POEMS OP POWER 
POEMS OF CHEER 
POEMS OP SENTIMENT 
POEMS OP PROGRESS 
POEMS OP EXPERIENCE 
THE KINGDOM OP LOVE 
MAURINE 
THREE WOMEN 
YESTERDAYS 
THE ENGLISHMAN 

In the Press 

POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



POEMS of PROBLEMS 



BY 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 




W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 

CHICAGO 
1914 

(All rights reserved) 



v ^\ $ 









Copyrighted, 1914 

BY 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 



OCT -7 1914 



CI.A380743 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Arrow and Bow 9 

Husks 13 

Sisters of Mine 15 

Answer 17 

The Silent Tragedy . . 19 

The Trinity 23 

The Weil-Born . . . 25 

The Price He Paid 27 

Meditations . 30 

Divorced 34 

The Unwed Mother to the Wife ..... 39 

Father and Son 42 

The Revealing Angels 45 

The New Year Ship 49 

Thinking of Christ 51 

The Traveller 53 

What Have You Done? 55 

The Undertone 58 

Gypsying 61 

Dance of the Song of the Sylphides .... 63 

5 



6 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Birth of the Orchid 67 

Stairways and Gardens 68 

Song of the Road 70 

The Forecast ........ . ... 72 

The Faith We Need 75 

Christ Crucified 78 

The Plough 82 

The Earth 84 

September 87 

October 88 

Two Voices 89 

The Graduates 92 

The Leader to Be 95 

Disarmament . 97 

The Edict of the Sex 99 

The Spinster 102 

The Cure 106 

The Creed b 109 

The Heights 110 

A Man's Ideal 112 

The River 113 

Unanswered Prayers 115 

Illusion 117 

The Birth of Jealousy 119 

God's Measure 122 

A Ballade of the Unborn Dead 123 






CONTENTS 7 

PAGE 

To Men 126 

Reincarnation 129 

Recrimination 131 

The Gulf Stream 134 

A Minor Chord 135 

The Squanderer 136 

Preparation 137 

Sirius 139 

Remembered 142 

The Call 143 

The Awakening . 145 

What Love Is 146 

Love's Supremacy 152 

Protest 154 

The Technique of Immortality 156 

I Wonder 158 

Omnipotence 160 

Interlude 163 

Consummation 164 

Time's Gaze 167 

Unsatisfied 169 

The Eternal Now . 172 

The Mill . . 173 

A Wish 175 



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AKROW AND BOW 

;T is easy to stand in the pulpit or in 
the closet to kneel 
And say — "God do this; God do 

that — 

"Make the world better; relieve the 
sorrows of man; for the sake of 
thy son 
1 ' Oh forgive all sin. ' ' Then having planned out 

God's work, to feel 
Our duty is done. 
It is easy to be religious this way. 
Easy to pray. 

It is harder to stand on the highway, or walk in 

the crowded mart; 
And say "I am He; I am He; 
"Mine the world burden; mine the sorrows of 

men; mine is the Christ work 
"To forgive my brother's sin; and then to live 

the Christ part 
And never to shirk. 
It is hard for you and me 
To be religious this way. 
Day after day. 

9 






10 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

But God is no longer in heaven; we drove him 

out with our prayers ; 
Drove him out with our sermons and creeds, 

and our endless plaints and despairs. 
He came down over the borders, and Christ too 

came along; 
They are looking the whole world over to see just 

what is wrong. 
God has grown weary of hearing his praises 

sung on earth ; 
And Jesus is weary of hearing the story about 

his birth; 
And the way to win their favor, that is surer 

than any other, 
Is to join in a song of Brotherhood and praises 

of one another. 

No, God is no longer in heaven; He has come 

down on earth to see 
That nothing is wrong with the world He made ; 

THE WRONG IS IN YOU AND ME. 
He meant the earth for a garden spot, where 

mill and factory stand; 
Childhood he meant for growing time ; but look 

at the toiling hand! 
Woman was meant for mother and mate; now 

look at the slaves of lust. 
And the good folks shake their heads and say 

"We must pray to God and trust." 



ARROW AND BOW 11 

God has a billion books of our prayers unopened 

upon his shelves, 
For the things we are begging of him to do, 

He wants us to do ourselves. 

Jehovah, Jesus, and each soul in space 

Are one, and undividable: Until 

We see God shining in each neighbor's face 

And find Him in ourselves and hail Him there, 

Let us be still. 

What use is prayer, 

How can we love the whole, and not each part ? 

How worship God, and harbor in the heart 

Hate of God's members (for all men are that). 

Too long our souls have sat, 

Like poor blind beggars at the door of God. 

He never made a beggar — We are kings! 

Let us rise up, for it is time we trod 

The mountain-tops; time that we did the things 

We have so long asked God to do. 

He waits for you 

To look deep in your brother's eyes and see 

The God within; 

To hear you say "Lo, thou art He; Lo, thou 

art He." 
This is the only way to end all sin. 
The difficult, one way. 

A prayer without a deed is an arrow without a 
bow-string; 



i 



12 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

A deed without a prayer is a how-string without 

an arrow. 
The heart of a man should be like a quiver full 

of arrows, 
And the hand of a man should be like a strong 

bow strung for action. 
The heart of a man should keep his arrows ever 

ascending, 
And the hand and the mind of a man should 

keep at a work unending. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



HUSKS 







HE looked at her neighbour's house in 
the light of the waning day — 
A shower of rice on the steps, and 
the shreds of a bride's bouquet. 
And then she drew the shade, to shut 
out the growing gloom, 
But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that 
a voice in the room?) 



1 My neighbour is sad,' she sighed, 'like the 

mother bird who sees 
The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make 

its home in the trees' — 
And then in a passion of tears — ' But, oh, to be 

sad like her: 
Sad for a joy that has come and gone I ' (Did 

some one speak, or stir?) 

She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with 

costly; rings; 

13 



Vl/« 



14 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

She looked on her widowed home, all burdened 

with priceless things. 
She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty 

years ahead — 
(Yes, something stirred and something spake, and 

this was what it said:) 

' The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here 

through the lonely dusk; 
Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only 

the husk. 
There are jewels ablaze on your breast where 

never a child has slept. 9 
She covered her face with her ringed old hands, 

and wept and wept and wept. 



SISTERS OF MINE 15 




SISTERS OF MINE 

ISTEES, sisters of mine, have we done 
what we could 
In all the old ways, through all the 

new days, 
To better the race and to make life 
sweet and good? 
Have we played the full part that was ours in 

the start, 
Sisters of mine? 

Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along 
To a larger world, with our banners unfurled, 
The battle-cry on lips where once was Love 's old 

song, 
Are we leaving behind better things than we find, 
Sisters of mine? 

Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the 
street, 



16 POEMS OF PEOBLEMS 

Through turmoil and din, without and within, 
As we gain something big do we lose something 

sweet ? 
In the growth of our might is our grace lost to 

sight? 
As new powers unfold do we love as of old, 
Sisters of mine? 



ANSWER 17 




ANSWER 

WELL have we done the old tasks ! 

in the old, old ways of earth. 
We have kept the house in order, we 

have given the children birth; 
And our sons went out with their 

fathers, and left us alone at the 

hearth l 



We have cooked the meats for their table; we 
have woven their cloth at the loom ; 

We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, 
and kept the flowers in bloom; 

And then we have sat and waited, alone in a 
silent room. 

We have borne all the pains of travail in giving 

life to the race; 
We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and 

helped them to power and place; 



18 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it 
with grudging grace. 

On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils 

of earth are shown. 
We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue 

that pines alone; 
We are out in the world with the masters : we are 

finding and claiming our own! 



THE SILENT TRAGEDY 19 




THE SILENT TRAGEDY 

| HE deepest tragedies of life are not 
Put into books, or acted on the stage. 
Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense 

hearth. 

In homes, among dull, unperceiving 
kin, 
And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of 

words 
Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit. 

There is a tragedy lived everywhere 
In Christian lands, by an increasing horde 
Of women martyrs to our social laws. 
Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood ; 
Women whose bosoms ache for little heads; 
Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives 
Have been restrained, restricted, and denied 
Their natural channels, till at last they stand 
Unmated and alone, by that sad sea 
Whose slow receding tide returns no more. 



20 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Men meet great sorrows ; but no man can grasp 
The depth, and height, of such a grief as this. 

The call of Fatherhood is from man's brain. 
Man cannot know the answer to that call 
Save as a woman tells him. But to her 
The call of Motherhood is from the soul, 
The brain, the body. She is like a plant 
Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit. 
Man is the pollen, carried by the wind 
Of accident, or impulse, or desire ; 
And then his role of fatherhood is played. 
Her threefold knowledge of maternity, 
Through three times three great months, is hers 
alone. 

Man as an egotist is wounded when 

He is not father. Woman when denied 

The all-embracing role of motherhood 

Eebels with her whole being. Oftentimes 

Rebellion finds its only utterance 

In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control ; 

Which gives the merry world its chance to cry 

1 Old maids are queer.' 

In far off Eastern lands 



TEE SILENT TRAGEDY 21 

» 

They think of God as Mother to the race ; 
Father and Mother of the Universe. 
And mayhap this is why they make their girls 
Wives prematurely, mothers over young; 
Hoping to please their Mother God this way. 
Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown 
For procreative uses, they contend 
Sterility is sinful. (Save when one 
Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth, 
And so conserves all forces to that end.) 

Here in the "West, our God is Masculine ; 
And while we say He bade a Virgin bring 
His Son to birth, we think of Him as One 
Placing false values on forced continence — 
Preparing heavens for those who live that life — 
And hells for those who stray by thought or act 
From the unnatural path our laws have made. 

Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou 
Knowing all depths within the woman heart, 
All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light. 
Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds 
Turn from achievements of material things 
To contemplation of Eternal truths. 



*»• 1M n 



22 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Space throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth; 
And mother-hearted women fill the earth. 
Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin 
The ranks of childless women, without sin. 



THE TBINITY 23 




THE TEINITY 

CH may be done with the world we 
are in, 

Much with the race to better it; 

We can unfetter it, 

Free it from chains of the old 
traditions ; 
Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin; 
Change its conditions 
Of labour and wealth; 

And open new roadways to knowledge and health. 
Yet some things ever must stay as they are 
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. 
A man and a woman with love between, 
Loyal and tender and true and clean, 
Nothing better has been or can be 
Than just those three. 

"Woman may alter the first great plan. 
Daughters and sisters and mothers, 
May stalk with their brothers 
Forth from their homes into noisy places 
Fit (and fit only) for masculine man. 



24 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Marring their graces 
"With conflict and strife 
To widen the outlook of all human life. 
Yet some things ever must stay as they are 
While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. 
A man and a woman with love that strengthens 
And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens ; 
Nothing better by God is given 
This side of heaven. 



Science may show us a wonderful vast 

Secret of life and of breeding it; 

Man by the heeding it 

Out of earth's chaos may bring a new order. 

Off with old systems, old laws may be cast. 

"What now seems the border 

Of license in creeds, 

May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds. 

Yet some things ever must stay as they are 

While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star. 

A man and a woman and love undefiled 

And the look of the two in the face of a child, — 

Oh, the joys of this world have their changing 

ways, 
But this joy stays. 
Nothing better on earth can be 
Than just those three. 



THE WELL-BOBN 25 






j 



THE WELL-BORN 

|0 many people — people — in the world; 

So few great souls, love ordered, well 
begun, 

In answer to the fertile mother need ! 

So few who seem 
The image of the Maker's mortal dream; 
So many born of mere propinquity — 
Of lustful habit, or of accident. 
Their mothers felt 

No mighty, all-compelling wish to see 
Their bosoms garden-places 
Abloom with flower faces; 
No tidal wave swept o'er them with its flood; 
No thrill of flesh or heart ; no leap of blood ; 
No glowing fire, flaming to white desire 
For mating and for motherhood: 
Yet they bore children. 

God ! how mankind misuses thy command, 

To populate the earth! 

How low is brought high birth ! 



26 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

How low the woman; when, inert as spawn 

Left on the sands to fertilise, 

She is the means through which the race goes on. 

Not so the first intent. 

Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant 

The clear, imperious call of mate to mate 

And the clear answer. Only thus and then 

Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives 

Brought into being. Not by Church or State 

Can birth be made legitimate, 

Unless 

Love in its fulness bless. 

Creation so ordains its lofty laws 

That man, while greater in all other things, 

Is lesser in the generative cause. 

The father may be merely man, the male; 

Yet more than female must the mother be. 

The woman who would fashion 

Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet, 

Must entertain a high and holy passion. 

Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings 

Can give a soul its dower 

Of majesty and power, 

Unless the mother brings 

Great love to that great hour. 



IRE PEICE HE PAID 27 



THE PEICE HE PAID 

SAID I would have my fling, 

And do what a young man may 
And I didn't believe a thing 

That the parsons have to say. 
I didn't believe in a God 
That gives us blood like fire, 
Then flings us into hell because 
We answer the call of desire. 

And I said: 'Eeligion is rot, 

And the laws of the world are nil; 
For the bad man is he who is caught 

And cannot foot his bill. 
And there is no place called hell; 

And heaven is only a truth 
When a man has his way with a maid, 

In the fresh keen hour of youth. 

And money can buy us grace, 

If it rings on the plate of the church: 
And money can neatly erase 

Each sign of a sinful smirch.' 



28 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

For I saw men everywhere, 

Hotfooting the road of vice; 
And women and preachers smiled on them 

As long as they paid the price. 

So I had my joy of life : 

I went the pace of the town; 
And then I took me a wife, 

And started to settle down. 
I had gold enough and to spare 

For all of the simple joys 
That belong with a house and a home 

And a brood of girls and boys. 

I married a girl with health 

And virtue and spotless fame. 
I gave in exchange my wealth 

And a proud old family name. 
And I gave her the love of a heart 

Grown sated and sick of sin! 
My deal with the devil was all cleaned up, 

And the last bill handed in. 

She was going to bring me a child, 
And when in labour she cried 

With love and fear I was wild — 
But now I wish she had died. 



THE PRICE HE PAID 29 

For the son she bore me was blind 
And crippled and weak and sore! 

And his mother was left a wreck. 
It was so she settled my score. 

I said I must have my fling, 

And they knew the path I would go ; 
Yet no one told me a thing 

Of what I needed to know. 
Folks talk too much of a soul 

From heavenly joys debarred — 
And not enough of the babes unborn, 

By the sins of their fathers scarred. 



30 



POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



MEDITATIONS 



HIS 




"WAS so proud of you last night, dear 

girl, 
"While man with man was striving 

for your smile. 
You never lost your head, nor once 
dropped down 
From your high place 
As queen in that gay whirl. 



(It takes more poise to w r ear a little crown 

With modesty and grace 

Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.) 



You seem so free from artifice and wile: 
And in your eyes I read 
Encouragement to my unspoken thought. 
My heart is eloquent with words to plead 
Its cause of passion ; but my questioning mind, 
Knowing how love is blind, 
Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows 
what. 



MEDITATIONS 31 

My heart cries with each beat, 

'She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet, 

So more than dear.' 

And then I hear 

The voice of Reason, asking: 'Would she 

meet 
Life's common duties with good common sense? 
Could she bear quiet evening at your hearth, 
And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth? 
If, some great day, love's mighty recompense 
For chastity surrendered came to her, 
If she felt stir 

Beneath her heart a little pulse of life, 
Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder, 
And find new glory in the name of wife? 
Or would she plot with hell, and seek to plunder 
Love's sanctuary, and cast away its treasure, 
That she might keep her freedom and her 

pleasure ? 
Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful? 
Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom, 
Seedless and beautiful, 
Meant just for decoration, and for show?' 
Alone here in my room, 
I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart 



32 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Has ever but one answer to impart, 
'I love her so.' 

HERS 

After the ball last night, when I came home 
I stood before my mirror, and took note 
Of all that men call beautiful. Delight, 
Keen, sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw 
My own reflection smiling on me there, 
Because your eyes, through all the swirling 

hours, 
And in your slow good-night, had made a fact 
Of what before I fancied might be so ; 
Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act, 
I still had doubted. But I doubt no more, 
I know you love me, love me. And I feel 
Your satisfaction in my comeliness. 

Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind, 
A spotless reputation, and a heart 
Longing for mating and for motherhood, 
And lips unsullied by another's kiss — ■ 
These are the riches I can bring to you. 

But as I sit here, thinking of it all 

In the clear light of morning, sudden fear 

Has seized upon me. "What has been your past ? 



MEDITATIONS 33 

From out the jungle of old reckless years, 

May serpents crawl across our path some day 

And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not 

A prude or bigot ; and I have not lived 

A score and three full years in ignorance 

Of human nature. Much I can condone; 

For well I know our kinship to the earth 

And all created things. "Why, even I 

Have felt the burden of virginity, 

When flowers and birds and golden butterflies 

In early spring were mating; and I know 

How loud that call of sex must sound to man 

Above the feeble protest of the world. 

But I can hear from depths within my soul 

The voices of my unborn children cry 

For rightful heritage. (May God attune 

The souls of men, that they may hear and heed 

That plaintive voice above the call of sex; 

And may the world's weak protest swell into 

A thunderous diapason — a demand 

For cleaner fatherhood.) 

Oh, love, come near; 

Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear. 



34 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




DIVOECED 

HINKING of one thing all day long, 
at night 
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart 

sore; 

But only for a little while. At three, 
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie, 
Staring out into darkness ; while my thoughts 
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again, 
From that white marriage morning of our youth 
Down to this dreadful hour. 

I see your face 
Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon; 
I hear your voice, that lingered on my name 
As if it loved each letter; and I feel 
The cling of your arms about my form, 
Your kisses on my cheek — and long to break 
The anguish of such memories with tears, 
But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry. 
We were so young, so happy, and so full 



DIVORCED 35 

Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish 
Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so 
That when I sometimes felt a woman's need 
For more serene expression of man's love 
(The need to rest in calm affection's bay 
And not sail ever on the stormy main), 
Yet would I rouse myself to your desire; 
Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm; 
So nothing I could give should be denied. 

And then our children came. Deep in my soul, 
From the first hour of conscious motherhood, 
I knew I should conserve myself for this 
Most holy office; knew God meant it so. 
Yet even then, I held your wishes first; 
And by my double duties lost the bloom 
And freshness of my beauty; and beheld 
A look of disapproval in your eyes. 
But with the coming of our precious child, 
The lover's smile, tinged with the father's pride, 
Eeturned again ; and helped to make me strong ; 
And life was very sweet for both of us. 

Another, and another birth, and twice 

The little white hearse paused beside our door 



w wf— >jg^r: 



36 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

And took away some portion of my youth 
"With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed 
To suffer with me, standing very near; 
But when I wept too long, you turned away. 
And I was hurt, not realising then 
My grief was selfish. I could see the change 
"Which motherhood and sorrow made in me; 
And when I saw the change that came to you, 
Saw how your eyes looked past me when you 

talked, 
And when I missed the love tone from your 

voice, 
I did that foolish thing weak women do, 
Complained and cried, accused you of neglect, 
And made myself obnoxious in your sight. 



And often, after you had left my side, 
Alone I stood before my mirror, mad 
With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull 
Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts, 
And wept, and wept, and faded more and more. 
How could I hope to win back wandering love, 
And make new flames in dying embers leap, 
By such ungracious means? 



DIVOBCED 37 

And then She came, 
Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young 

eyes, 
And all the ways of youth. I who had died 
A thousand deaths, in waiting the return 
Of that old love-look to your face once more, 
Died yet again and went straight into hell 
When I beheld it come at her approach. 

My God, my God, how have I borne it all! 
Yet since she had the power to wake that look — 
The power to sweep the ashes from your heart 
Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires, 
One thing remained for me — to let you go. 
I had no wish to keep the empty frame 
From which the priceless picture had been 

wrenched. 
Nor do I blame you ; it was not your fault : 
You gave me all that most men can give — love 
Of youth, of beauty, and of passion ; and 
I gave you full return; my womanhood 
Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown 

ill, 
Or old, and unattractive from some cause 
(Less close than was my service unto you), 



38 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

I should have clung the tighter to you, dear ; 
And loved you, loved you, loved you more and 
more. 

I grow so weary thinking of these things; 
Day in, day out; and half the awful nights. 



THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE 39 




THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE 

HAD been almost happy for an hour, 
Lost to the world that knew me in 

the park 
Among strange faces ; while my little 
girl 
Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the 

birds 
And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear, 
So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time 
The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame, 
Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you 

passed. 
I sat alone upon the public bench; 
You, with your lawful husband, rode in state; 
And when your eyes fell on me and my child, 
They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped. 

God ! how good women slaughter with a look ! 
And, like cold steel, your glance cut through 
my heart, 



40 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Struck every petal from the rose of love 
And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns. 

My little one came running to my side 
And called me Mother. It was like a blow 
Between the eyes ; and made me sick with pain. 
And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze 
Took up the word, and changed its syllables 
From Mother into Magdalene; and cried 
My shame to all the world. 

It was your eyes 
Which did all this. But listen now to me 
(Not you alone, but all the barren wives 
Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face 
Of fallen women) : I do chance to know 
The crimes you think are hidden from all men 
(Save one who took your gold and sold his skill 
And jeopardized his name for your base ends). 

I know how you have sunk your soul in sense 
Like any wanton; and refused to bear 
The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed; 
I know how you have crushed the tender bud 
Which held a soul; how you have blighted it; 



THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE 41 

Ajid made the holy miracle of birth 

A wicked travesty of God's design. 

Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now 

And beautify your selfish, arid life, 

Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep 

The aimless freedom, and the purposeless, 

Self-seeking liberty of childless wives. 

I was an untaught girl. By nature led, 

By love and passion blinded, I became 

An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife, 

Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy 

The laws of nature, and fling baby souls 

Back in the face of God. And yet you dare 

Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint ; 

And all the world smiles on you, and its doors 

Swing wide at your approach. 

I stand outside. 

Surely there must be, higher courts than earth, 
Where you and I will some day meet and be 
Weighed by a larger justice. 



42 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



i0ff WwL JUB 





FATHER AND SON 

Y grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, 
Delights in talking of her only son, 
My gallant father, long since dead 
and gone. 
'Ah, but he was the lad!' 
She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance. 
How well I read the meaning of that glance — 
'Poor son of such a dad; 
Poor weakling, dull and sad.' 
I could, but would not, tell her bitter truth 
About my father's youth. 

She says : 'Your father laughed his way through 

earth : 
He laughed right in the doctor's face at birth, 
Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth. 

Ah, what a lad was he!' 
And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame, 
Because I brought her nothing but his name. 

Because she does not see 

Her worshipped son in me. 



FATHER AND SON 43 

I could, but would not, speak in my defence 
Anent the difference. 

She says: 'He won all prizes in his time; 
He overworked, and died before his prime: 
At high ambition's door I lay the crime. 

Ah, what a lad he was ! ' 
Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought, 

Of what avail to say, 'His death was brought 

By broken sexual laws, 

The ancient sinful cause.' 
I could, but would not, tell the good old dame 
The story of his shame. 

I could say: 'I am crippled, weak, and pale, 
Because my father was an unleashed male. 
Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail. 

(Ah, yes, he was the lad!) 
Because he drained each cup of sense-delight 
I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night. 

Because he was joy-mad, 

I must be always sad. 

Because he learned no lav/ of self-control, 
I ajn a blighted soul.' 

Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy. 



44 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Better to see her disapproving eyes, 
And silent, hear her say, between her sighs, 
'Ah, but he was the boy!' 



THE BEVEALING ANGELS 45 






THE REVEALING ANGELS 

|UDDENLY and without warning they 
came — 
The Revealing Angels came. 
Suddenly and simultaneously, 
through city streets, 
Through quiet lanes and country roads they 

walked. 
They walked crying: 'God has sent us to find 
The vilest sinners of earth. 
We are to bring them before Him, before the 
Lord of Life/ 

Their voices were like bugles; 
And then all war, all strife, 
And all the noises of the world grew still; 
And no one talked ; 

And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away. 
Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunk- 
enness and crime, 
Men and women of evil repute, 



46 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And mothers with fatherless children in their 

arms, all strove to hide. 
But the Bevealing Angels passed them by, 
Saying: 'Not you, not you. 
Another day, when we shall come again 
Unto the haunts of men, 
Then we will call your names; 
But God has asked us first to bring to him 
Those guilty of greater shames 
Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice — 
Yea, greater than murder done in passion, 
Or self-destruction done in dark despair. 
Now in His Holy Name we call: 
Come one and all 
Come forth; reveal your faces.' 

Then through the awful silence of the world, 
"Where noise had ceased, they came — 
The sinful hosts. 

They came from lowly and from lofty places, 
Seme poorly clad, but many clothed like queens ; 
They came from scenes of revel and from toil; 
From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes, 
From boudoirs, and from churches. 
They came like ghosts — 



THE EEVEALING ANGELS 47 

The vast brigades of women who had slain 
Their helpless, unborn children. With them 

trailed 
Lovers and husbands who had said, 'Do this/ 
And those who helped for hire. 
They stood before the Angels — before the Ee- 

vealing angels they stood. 
And they heard the Angels say; 
And all the listening world heard the Angels 

say; 
1 These are the vilest sinners of all; 
For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might 

come ; 
Made sex and its keen compelling desire 
To fashion bodies wherein souls might go 
From lower planes to higher, 
Until the end is reached (which is Beginning). 
They have stolen the costly pleasures of the 

senses 
And refused to pay God's price. 
They have come together, these men and these 

women, 
As male and female they have come together 
In the great creative act. 



48 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

They have invited souls, and then flung them 

out into space; 
They have made a jest of God's design. 
All other sins look white beside this sinning; 
All other sins may be condoned, forgiven; 
All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven; 
Not these, not these. 
Pass on, and meet God's eyes.' 

The vast brigade moved forward, and behind 

them walked the Angels, 
Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels. 



THE NEW YEAR SHIP 49 




THE NEW YEAR SHIP 

CEOSS wide seas of space, from God's 
own bay, 
Straight to the shores of earth it 

ploughed its way, 
And came, full rigged, to anchor in 
the night. 
Its sails lie clean against the morning light; 
And on the bridge old Captain Time is standing, 
Proud of the brave new craft he is commanding. 

My heart runs dockward, crying, 'Ship ahoy! 
"What cargo do you carry — pain or joy? 
Before the crew of Days shall come ashore, 
Bearing each one his portion of your store — 
Tell me what things are hidden in your hold?' 

There is no answer. Yet I do make bold 
To prophesy some things Time keeps for me 
In that great New Year ship. 



50 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

First there will be 
Keen Winter mornings, when the sun and frost 
Wage bloodless battle, with their daggers 

crossed. 
The wind will act as second for the sun, 
While trees stand steadfast for the other one. 
Ah ! such rare sport ! 

There will be Spring's return, 
When in old hearts young blood again will burn, 
And young buds deck old trees; while in the 



Vast dawns and sunsets startle and surprise 
A waking world to wonder. 

There will come 
Roses so beauteous they strike one dumb; 
(A perfect rose is beauty's final word!) 
While in their scent old memories are stirred 
Of other scenes and times. 

Then Autumn's brush 
Shall paint the earth before the final hush 
That means a dying year. Ah! Captain Time, 
You cannot cheat me of these gifts sublime, 
(And countless others that I have not told). 
Whatever else you bring me — or withhold. 



THINKING OF CHEIST 51 




THINKING OF CHRIST 

HINKING of Christ, and hearing what 
men say 
Anent His second coming some near 

day; 

Unto the me of Me, I turned to ask, 
What can we do for Him, and by what task, 
Or through what sacrifice, can we proclaim 
Our mighty love, and glorify His name? 

"Whereon myself replied (thinking of Christ) : 
Has not God's glory unto Him sufficed? 
What need has He of temples that men raise? 
What need has He of any songs of praise? 
Not sacrifice nor offerings needs He. 
(Thinking of Christ, so spake Myself to me.) 

The rivers from the mountain do not try 
To feed the source from which they gain supply ; 
They pay their debt by flowing on and down, 
And carrying comfort to the field and town. 



52 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

They scatter joy and beauty on their course, 
In gratitude to the Eternal Source. 

And thus should we (thinking of Christ) bestow 
The full sweet tides of love that through us flow 
Upon earth's weaker creatures. To the less 
Must flow the greater, would we lift and bless. 
Christ is the mountain source; each heart a 

river ; 
The thirsting meadows need us, not the Giver. 

Thinking of Christ, let us proclaim His worth 
By gracious deeds to mortals on this earth: 
And while we wait His coming, let us bring 
Sweet love and pity to the humblest thing, 
And show our voiceless kin of air and sod 
The mercy of the Universal God. 

Not by long prayers, though prayers renew our 

grace — 
Not by tall spires, though steeples have their 

place — 
Not by our faith, though faith is glorious — 
Can we prove Christ, but "by the love in us. 
Mercy and love and kindness — seek these three. 
Thus (thinking of Christ) Myself said unto me. 



THE TEAVELLEB 53 




THE TRAVELLER 

|RISTLING with steeples, high against 
the hill, 
Like some great thistle in the rosy 

dawn 

It stood; the Town-of-Christian- 
Churches, stood. 
The Traveller surveyed it with a smile. 
'Surely/ He said, 'here is the home of peace; 
Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord, 
God in the heart of all; else why these spires?' 
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) 

The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound 

From mellow music into jarring noise. 

Then down the street pale hurrying children 

came, 
And vanished in the yawning Factory door. 
He called to them : * Come back, come unto Me. ' 
The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the 

place. 
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) 



54 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

Forth from two churches came two men, and 

met, 
Disputing loudly over boundary lines, 
Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts. 
A haughty woman drew her skirts aside 
Because her fallen sister passed that way. 
The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed, 
They asked in indignation, 'Who are you, 
Daring to interfere in private lives?' 
The Traveller replied, 'My name is CHRIST.' 
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) 



WHAT HAVE YOU DONE 55 



WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? 




HAT have yon done, and what are you 
doing with life, Man! 
Average Man of the world — 
Average Man of the Christian world 
we call civilised? 
What have you done to pay for the labour pains 

of the mother who bore you? 
On earth you occupy space; you consume oxy- 
gen from the air: 
And what do you give in return for these 

things ? 
Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil ? 
Or that you live through the toiling and striving 

of others? 
As you pass down the street does any one look 

on you and say, 
'There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise 
father, a fine citizen? 



"» «■ 



56 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

A man whose strong hand is ready to help a 
neighbour, 

A man to trust'? And what do women say of 
you? 

Unto their own souls what do women say? 

Do they say : ' He helped to make the road easier 
for tired feet? 

To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes ? 

He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood'? 

Look into your own heart and answer, Aver- 
age Man of the world, 

Of the Christian world we call civilised. 

ii 

What do men think of you, what do they think 
and say of you, 

Average Woman of the world? 

Do they say: i There is a woman with a great 
heart, 

Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil 
speaking : 

There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a pur- 
pose in life: 

She can be trusted to mould the minds of little 
children : 



WHAT HAVE YOU DONE 57 

f She knows how to be good without being dull ; 
How to be glad and to make others glad without 

descending to folly; 
She is one who illuminates the path wherein she 

walks ; 
One who awakens the best in every human being 

she meets'? 
Look into your heart, Woman! and answer 

this: 
What are you doing with the beautiful years? 
Is your to-day a better thing than was your 

yesterday ? 
Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and use- 
fulness ? 
Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric 

knit by Time, 
And throwing away the threads? 
Make answer, Woman! Average Woman of 

the Christian world. 



58 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE UNDERTONE 

HEN I was very young I used to feel 
the dark despair of youth; 
Out of my little griefs I wtould in- 
vent great tragedies and woes; 
Not only for myself, but for all those 
I held most dear 
I would invent vast sorrows in my; melancholy 

moods of thought. 
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an 

undertone of rapture. 
It was like a voice from some other world calling 

softly to me, 
Saying things joyful. 

As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall 
for me to drink, 

Forcing it through clenched teeth when I re- 
fused to take it willingly; 

When Pain prepared some special anguish for 
my heart to bear, 



THE UNDERTONE 59 

And all the things I longed for seemed to be 

wholly beyond my reach — 
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an 

undertone of rapture. 
It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other 

world calling to me, 
Bringing glad tidings. 

Now when I look about me, and see the great 
injustices of men, 

See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury 
and mirth, 

See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while foot- 
sore Virtue walks; 

Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from 
lands of shameful wealth — 

Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an 
undertone of rapture. 

It is like a Voice — it is a Voice — calling to me 
and saying: 

'Love rules triumphant. ' 

Now when each mile-post on the path of life 

seems marked by headstones, 
And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid 

away from sight; 



60 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant 

chair, 
And in the throngs once formed of friends I 

meet unreeognising eyes — 
Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an 

undertone of rapture. 
It is the Voice, it is the Voice forever saying 

unto me: 
/Life is Eternal/ 



GYPSYING 61 




GYPSYING 

(YPSYING, gypsying, through the 
world together, 
Never mind . the way we go, never 

mind what port. 
Follow trails, or fashion sails, start 
in any weather: 
While we journey hand in hand, everything is 
sport. 

Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry: 

Never mind the 'if and 'but' (words for cow- 
ard lips). 

Put them out with 'fear' and l doubt,' in the 
pack with ' hurry,' 

While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, 
or ships. 

Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us ; 
Never mind what others say, or what others do. 



62 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls 

us; 
While you have me at your side, and while I 

have you. 

Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow; 
Never mind the why of it, since it suits our 

mood. 
Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who 

follow 
Find, unspringing from the soil, some small seed 

of good. 

Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we 

wander : 
Never mind the rushing years, that have come 

and gone. 
There must be for you and me, lying over 

Yonder, 
Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on. 



DANCE OF THE SYLPHIDES' SONG 63 



DANCE OF THE SONG OF THE 
SYLPHIDES 



The unwritten law of the ancient Egyptians de- 
manded that a famous dancer or singer should retire at 
the height of her career, or die. Amaremu, the wonder- 
ful dancer, confessed to the Priest of the Temple that 
she had decided to die after dancing the Song of the 
Sylphides. The Priest, who was a great musician, 
asked her to rehearse the dance for him and he would 
improvise music for it. The verses are written on the 
story as related in a papyrus found by Dr. Paul Schlie- 
mann in the recent excavations of the Temple of Sais. 
The instrument used by the Priest was a horn fash- 
ioned from a human skull. It was known as the Dead 
Throat, the Skull Horn, and was used in all great 
orchestras in ancient Egypt. 

|MAREMU the dancer (oh, a dancer 
of dreams was Amaremu) 
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the 

Temple of Sais, drew nigh. 
She had reached the height of her 
triumph, and now, as all men knew, 
She must dance no more, or die. 




Amaremu the dancer (oh, Amaremu was a 

dancer of songs) 
Unto the Priest of the Temple, the Temple of 

Sais, said: 



64 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

1 I will dance the Song of the Sylphides once 

more for the waiting throngs; 
Then go my way with the dead/ 

Then answered the Priest to the dancer (to 

Amaremu, dancer of love) : 
'Show me the dance of the Sylphides and teach 

me its rhythm and time; 
I will shape yon an air on the Skull Horn; I 

will play for you as you move 
Through the Song of the wordless rhyme/ 

Amaremu the dancer (dancer of anthems and 

hymns to the sun) 
Danced in the Temple of Sais, alone for the 

Priest who played. 
Slowly the notes from the Skull Horn came 

quivering one by one, 
And slowly the dancer swayed. 

Slowly at first, then faster, swayed Amaremu, 

dancer of life's delight; 
And faster and louder and wilder the notes of 

the Skull Horn grew; 



DANCE OF THE SYLPHIDES' SONG 65 

And the Priest was a priest no longer, but a 

man alone at night 
With the dancer Amaremu. 

Faster and wilder and madder danced Ama- 
remu, danced Amaremu; 

She flung down garment by garment; she tore 
off veil by veil; 

And the face of the Priest was pallid, and his 
breath came hard as he drew 

From the Skull Horn, sounds like a wail. 

Amaremu the dancer (the dancer of dream, and 

song, or rite and feast, 
Dancer of mighty emotions, dancer of terrible 

joys) 
Stood nude in the Temple of Sais, stood nude 

before the Priest, 
In the beauty that destroys. 

Amaremu the dancer (oh, Amaremu was dance 

and song and dream) 
Stood white in her awful beauty while the pale 
Priest brought a note 



66 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

Like the mingled shout of a devil and a soul's 

despairing scream 
From the Skull Horn's hollow throat. 

Amaremu the dancer (the dancer of the Syl- 
phides' Song of Death) 

Had finished her dance of passion, and the 
Priest had ceased to play. 

And white as a marble statue, like a statue with- 
out breath, 

In the dead Priest's arms she lay. 



THE BIRTH OF THE ORCHID 67 




THE BIRTH OF THE ORCHID 

|RAPPED in her robe of amethyst 

Rose the young Dawn. 

Pallid with passion came the Mist, 

And followed on, 

Fleet as a fawn. 
Down by the sea they clasped and kissed: 
Swooned the young Dawn. 

Out of that kiss of dew and flame 
The orchid came. 



68 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS 

ARDENS and Stairways; those are 
words that thrill me 
Always with vague suggestions of 

delight. 

Stairways and Gardens. Mystery and 
grace 
Seem part of their environment ; they fill me 
With memories of things veiled from my sight, 
In some far place. 

Gardens. The word is overcharged with mean- 
ing. 
It speaks of moonlight and a closing door. 
Of birds at dawn — of sultry afternoons. 
Gardens. I seem to see low branches screening 
A vine-roofed arbour with a leaf -tiled floor, 
Where sunlight swoons. 

Stairways. The word winds upward to a land- 
ing; 
Then curves and vanishes in space above. 



STAIRWAYS AND GARDENS 69 

Lights fall, lights rise ; soft lights that meet and 

blend. 
Stairways ; and some one at the bottom standing 
Expectantly with lifted looks of love. 
Then steps descend. 

Gardens and stairways. They belong with 

song — 
With subtle scents of myrrh and musk — 
"With dawn and dusk — with youth, romance, and 

mystery, 
And times that were and times that are to T)e. 
Stairways and gardens. 



70 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




SONG OF THE EOAD 

AM a Eoad; a good road, fair and 

smooth and broad; 
And I link with my beautiful tether 
Town and Country together, 
Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, 
from the reel of God. 
Oh, great the life of a Eoad! 

I am a Eoad; a long road, leading on and on; 
And I cry to the world to follow, 
Past meadow and hill and hollow, 

Through desolate night, to the open gates of 
dawn. 
Oh, bold the life of a Eoad ! 

I am a Eoad; a kind road, shaped by strong 
hands. 
I make strange cities neighbours; 
The poor grow rich with my labours, 



SONG OF THE BOAD 71 

And beauty and comfort follow me through the 
lands. 
Oh, glad the life of a Road ! 

I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men's 
ways ; 
And I know how each heart reaches 
For the things dear Nature teaches; 
And I am the path that leads into green young 
Mays. 
Oh, sweet the life of a Road ! 

I am a Road ; and I speed away from the slums, 

Away from desolate places, 

Away from unused spaces; 
Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes. 

Oh, brave the life of a Road! 

I am a Road ; and I would make the whole world 
one. 
I would give hope to duty, 
And cover the earth with beauty. 
Do you not see, men ! how all this might be 
done? 
So vast the power of the Road! 



72 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE FORECAST 

T may be that I dreamed a dream; it 
may be that I saw 
The forecast of a time to come, by 
some supernal law. 

I seemed to dwell in this same world, 
and in this modern time; 
All strife had ceased; men were disarmed; and 

quiet Peace had made 
A thousand avenues for toil, in place of War's 

crime trade. 
From east to west, from north to south, where 

highways smooth and broad 
Tied State to State, the waste lands bloomed, 

like garden spots of God. 
There were no beggars in the streets ; there were 

no unemployed; 

For each man owned his plot of ground, and 

laboured and enjoyed. 
Sweet children grew like garden flowers, all 

strong and fair to see ; 



THE FORECAST 73 

And when I marvelled at the sight, thus spake 

a Voice to me: 
'All Motherhood is now an art, the greatest art 

on earth; 
And nowhere is there known the crime of one 

unwelcome birth. 
From rights of parentage the sick and sinful 

are debarred; 
For Matron Science keeps our house, and at the 

door stands guard. 
We know the cure for darkness lies in letting 

in the light; 
And Prisons are replaced by Schools, where 

wrong views change to right. 
The wisdom, knowledge, study, thought, once 

bent on beast and sod, 
We give now to the human race, the highest 

work of God; 
And, as the gardener chooses seed, so we select 

with care; 
And as our Man Plant grows, we give him soil 

and sun and air. 
There are no slums; no need of alms; all men 

are opulent, 



74 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

For Mother Earth belongs to them, as was the 
First Intent.' 

It may he that I dreamed a dream; it may he 

that I saw 
The forecast of a time to come, by some supernal 

law. 



THE FAITH WE NEED 75 



mm 



THE FAITH WE NEED 

|00 tall our structures, and too swift 
our pace; 
Not so we mount, not so we gain the 

race. 

Too loud the voice of commerce in 
the land; 
Not so truth speaks, not so we understand. 
Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains ; 
Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains. 

But the need of the world is a faith that will 

live anywhere; 
In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in 

the sun's full glare. 
A faith that can hear God's voice, alike in the 

quiet glen, 
Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises 

of men. 

And the need of the world is a creed that is 
founded on joy ; 



76 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no 

winds can destroy; 
A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this 

life bestows, 
And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because 

it knows, it knows. 

And the need of the world is love that burns in 

the heart like flame; 
A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy 

the same; 
A love that blazes a trail to God, through the 

dark and the cold, 
Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, 

through glory and gold. 

For the faith that can only thrive or grow in 

the solitude, 
And droops and dies in the marts of men, where 

sights and sounds are rude; 
That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a 

mystic's heart. 
Our faith should point as the compass points, 

whatever be the chart. 

Our faith must find its centre of peace in a 
babel of noise; 



THE FAITH WE NEED 77 

In the changing ways of the world of men it 

must keep its poise; 
And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must 

hear God's call; 
And the faith that cannot do all this, that is 

not faith at all. 



78 



POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 



CHEIST CKUCIFIED 




|0W ere I slept, my prayer had been 
that I might see my way 
To do the will of Christ, our Lord 

and Master, day by day; 
And with this prayer upon my lips, 
I knew not that I dreamed, 
But suddenly the world of night 

a pandemonium seemed. 
From forest, and from slaughter house, 

from bull ring, and from stall, 
There rose an anguished cry of pain, 

a loud, appealing call; 
As man — the dumb beast's next of kin — 

with gun, and whip, and knife, 
Went pleasure-seeking through the earth, 

blood-bent on taking life. 
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, 

and street, that awful strain 
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled 
the orchestra of pain. 



CHRIST CRUCIFIED 79 

And then methought the gentle Christ 

appeared to me, and spoke: 
'I called ye, but ye answered not' — 

and in my fear I woke. 

The next I heard the roar of mills; 

and moving through the noise, 
Like phantoms in an underworld, 

were little girls and boys. 
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, 

their eyes were sad and old ; 
But by the labour of their hands 

greed added gold to gold. 
Again the Presence and the Voice: 

' Behold the crimes I see, 
As ye have done it unto these, 

so have ye done to me. ' 

Again I slept. I seemed to climb 

a hard, ascending track; 
And just behind me laboured one 

whose patient face was black. 
I pitied him; but hour by hour 

he gained upon the path; 



80 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

He stood beside me, stood upright — 

and then I turned in wrath. 
'Go back!' I cried. 'What right have you 

to walk beside me here? 
For you are black, and I am white. 7 

I paused, struck dumb with fear. 
For lo ! the black man was not there, 

but Christ stood in his place ; 
And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain 

that looked from that dear face. 

Now when I woke, the air was rife 

with that sweet, rhythmic din 
Which tells the world that Christ has come 

to save mankind from sin. 
And through the open door of church 

and temple passed a throng, 
To worship Him with bended knee, 

with sermon, and with song. 
But over all I heard the cry 

of hunted, mangled things; 
Those creatures which are part of God, 

though they have hoofs and wings. 
I saw in mill, and mine, and shop, 

the little slaves of greed; 



CHEIST CRUCIFIED 81 

I heard the strife of race with race, 
all sprung from one God-seed. 

And then I bowed my head in shame, 
and in contrition cried — 

'Lo, after nineteen hundred years 
Christ still is Crucified. ' 



82 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE PLOUGH 

F you listen, you will hear from east 
to west, 
Growing sounds of discontent and 

deep unrest. 
It is just the progress-driven plough 
of God, 
Tearing up the well-worn custom-bounded sod; 
Shaping out each old tradition-trodden track 
Into furrows, fertile furrows, rich and black. 
Oh, what harvests they will yield 
When they widen to a field. 

They will widen, they will broaden, day by day, 
As the Progress-driven plough keeps on its way. 
It will riddle all the ancient roads that lead 
Into palaces of selfishness and greed; 
It will tear away the almshouse and the slum 
That the little homes and garden plots may come. 
Yes, the gardens green and sweet 
Shall replace the stony street. 



THE PLOUGH 83 

Let the wise man hear the menace that is blent 
In this ever-growing sound of discontent. 
Let him hear the rising clamour of the race 
That the few shall yield the many larger space. 
For the crucial hour is coming when the soil 
Must be given to, or taken back by Toil. 
Oh, that mighty plough of God ; 
Hear it breaking through the sod! 



84 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE EARTH 
i 
|0 build a house, with love for archi- 
tect, 
Ranks first and foremost in the joys 

of life. 

And in a tiny cabin, shaped for two, 
The space for happiness is just as great 
As in a palace. What a world were this 
If each soul born, received a plot of ground; 
A little plot, whereon a home might rise, 
And beauteous green things grow! 

We give the dead, 
The idle vagrant dead, the Potter's Field; 
Yet to the living not one inch of soil. 
Nay, we take from them soil, and sun, and air, 
To fashion slums and hell-holes for the race. 
And to our poor we say, l Go starve and die 
As beggars die; so gain your heritage.' 

ii 
That was a most uncanny dream ; I thought the 

wraiths of those 



TEE EAETE 85 

Long buried in the Potter's Field, in shredded 
shrouds arose; 

They said, 'Against the will of God 
We have usurped the fertile sod, 
Now will we make it yield.' 

Oh! but it was a gruesome sight, to see those 

phantoms toil; 
Each to his own small garden bent ; each spaded 
up the soil; 

(I never knew Ghosts laboured so.) 
Each scattered seed, and watched, till lo ! 
The Graves were opulent. 

Then all among the fragrant greens, the silent, 

spectral train 
Walked, as if breathing in the breath of plant, 
and flower, and grain. 

(I never knew Ghosts loved such things; 
Perchance it brought back early springs 
Before they thought of death.) 

'The mothers' milk for living babes; the earth 
for living hosts; 



86 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

The clean flame for the un-souled dead/ (Oh, 
strange the words of Ghosts.) 

'If we had owned this little spot 
In life, we need not lie and rot 
Here in a pauper's bed.' 



SEPTEMBEB 87 




SEPTEMBER 

|EPTEMBER comes along the great 
green way 
That Spring and Summer fashioned 

for our feet. 
And though her face is beautiful 
and sweet, 
Though gracious smiles about her ripe mouth 

play, 
Yet subtle recollections of each day 
Of idleness in her large look I meet. 
All things achieved stand small and incomplete 
Beside the boastful promises of May ! 
Now I berate fair June, who tempted me 
"With fragrant beds of roses, and as well 
Her siren sisters, who were following near; 
But most of all I do accuse the Sea. 
Reach me thine hand, and help me break the 

spell, 
September, matron-mentor of the year! 



88 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




OCTOBER 

SHE 

|ONE are the Spring and Summer 
from the year; 
And from our lives as well. May 

we not, dear, 
In our October find serene delights 
To take the place of ardent summer nights? 
Not striving to retain a dying season, 
Or imitate its pleasures, but with reason 
Accepting Autumn's quiet, briefer day 
Of calm content, not seeking to be gay? 

HE 

Gone are the Spring and Summer ; yet behold 
The radiant woods, supreme in red and gold 
And russet colours ; and the wind harp plays 
A louder song than in the April days. 
Our lives need not be colourless or sober 
Because of Autumn. Emulate October, 
Who will not let the ageing years grow dull, 
But keep its love by being beautiful. 



TWO VOICES 89 



TWO VOICES 



VIRTUE 




WANTON one, wicked one, how 

was it that you came, 
Down from the paths of purity, to 

walk the streets of shame? 
And wherefore was that precious 
wealth, God gave to you in trust, 
Flung broadcast for the feet of men to trample 
in the dust? 

VICE 

prudent one, spotless one, now listen well 

to me. 
The ways that led to where I tread these paths 

of sin, were three: 
And God, and good folks, all combined to make 

them fair to see. 

VIRTUE 

wicked one, blasphemous one, now how could 
that thing be? 



90 POEMS OF PEOBLEMS 

VICE 

The first was Nature's lovely road, whereon my 

life was hurled. 
I felt the stirring in my blood, which permeates 

the world. 
I thrilled like willows in the spring, when sap 

begins to flow; 
It was young passion in my veins, but how was 

I to know? 

The second was the silent road, where modest 

mothers dwell, 
And hide from eager, curious minds, the truth 

they ought to tell. 
That misnamed road called 'Innocence' should 

bear the sign 'To Hell.' 
With song and dance in ignorance I walked that 

road and fell. 

VIRTUE 

fallen one, unhappy one, but why not rise 

and go 
Back to the ways you left behind, and leave your 

sins below, 
Nor linger in this sink of sin, since now you see, 

and know? 



TWO VOICES 91 

VICE 

The third road was the fair highway, trod by the 

good and great. 
I cried aloud to that vast crowd, and told my 

hapless fate. 
They hurried all through door and wall and 

shut Convention's gate. 
I beat it with my bleeding hands: they must 

have heard me knock. 
They must have heard wild sob and word, yet 

no one turned the lock. 

Oh, it is very desolate, on Virtue's path to 

stand, 
And see the good folks flocking by, withholding 

look and hand. 

And so with hungry heart and soul, and weary 
brain and feet, 

I left that highway whence you came, and sought 
the sinful street. 

prudent one, spotless one, when good folks 
speak of me, 

Go, tell them of the roads I came; the road- 
ways fair, and three. 



92 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 




THE GRADUATES 

SAW them beautiful, in fair array 

upon Commencement Day; 
Lissome and lovely, radiant and 

sweet 

As cultured roses, brought to their 
estate 
By careful training. Finished and complete 
(As teachers calculate). 

They passed in maiden grace along the aisle, 
Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile 
Upon the gazing throng. 

Musing I thought upon their place as mothers 
of the race. 

Oh there are many actors who can play 
Greatly, great parts ; but rare indeed the soul 
Who can be great when cast for some small 

role; 
Yet that is what the world most needs ; big hearts 



THE GBADUATES 93 

That will shine forth and glorify poor parts 
In this strange drama, Life! Do they, 
Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day 
Before admiring eyes, hold in their store 
Those fine high principles which keep old Earth 
From being only earth ; and make men more 
Than just mere men? How will they prove 

their worth 
Of years of study ? "Will they walk abroad 
Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God, 
The glorious birds ? And shall the lamb unborn 
Be slain on altars of their vanity? 
To some frail sister who has missed the way 
"Will they give Christ's compassion, or man's 

scorn ? 
And will clean manhood, linked with honest 

love, 
The victor prove, 

When riches, gained by greed dispute the claim? 
Will they guard well a husband's home and 

name, 
Or lean down from their altitudes to hear 
The voice of flattery speak in the ear 
Those lying platitudes which men repeat 
To listening Self-Conceit ? 



94 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

Musing I thought upon their places as mothers 

of the race, 
As beautiful they passed in maiden grace. 



THE LEADER TO BE 95 




THE LEADER TO BE 

HAT shall the leader be in that great 
day 
When we who sleep and dream that 

we are slaves 
Shall wake and know that Liberty 
is ours? 
Mark well that word— not yours, not mine, but 

ours: 
For through the mingling of the separate streams 
Of individual protest and desire, 
In one united sea of purpose, lies 
The course to Freedom. 

When Progression takes 
Her undisputed right of way, and sinks 
The old traditions and conventions where 
They may not rise, what shall the leader be? 

No mighty warrior skilled in crafts of war, 
Sowing earth's fertile furrows with dead men 



96 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And staining crimson God's cerulean sea, 
To prove his prowess to a shuddering world. 
No ruler, purchased by the perjured votes 
Of striving demagogues whose god is gold. 
Not one of these shall lead to Liberty. 
The weakness of the world cries out for strength. 
The sorrow of the world cries out for hope. 
Its suffering cries for kindness. 

He who leads 
Must then be strong and hopeful as the dawn 
That rises unafraid and full of joy 
Above the blackness of the darkest night. 
He must be kind to every living thing; 
Kind as the Krishna, Buddha, and the Christ, 
And full of love for all created life. 
Oh, not in war shall his great prowess lie, 
Nor shall he find his pleasure in the chase. 
Too great for slaughter, friend of man and 

beast, 
Touching the borders of the Unseen Realms 
And bringing down to earth their mystic fires 
To light our troubled pathways, wise and kind, 
And human to the core, so shall he be 
The coming leader of the coming time. 



DISARMAMENT 97 




DISARMAMENT 

have outgrown the helmet and 

cuirass, 

The spear, the arrow, and the javelin. 

These crude inventions of a cruder 

age, 

When men killed men to show their love of God, 

And he who slaughtered most was greatest king. 

We have outgrown the need of war ! Should men 
Unite in this one thought, all war would end. 

Disarm the world; and let all Nations meet 
Like Men, not monsters, when disputes arise. 
When crossed opinions tangle into snarls, 
Let Courts untie them, and not armies cut. 
When state discussions breed dissensions, let 
Union and Arbitration supersede 
The hell-created implements of War. 
Disarm the world! and bid destructive thought 



98 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Slip like a serpent from the mortal mind 
Down through the marshes of oblivion. Soon 
A race of gods shall rise! Disarm! Disarm! 



TEE EDICT OF THE SEX 99 




THE EDICT OF THE SEX 

WO thousand years had passed since 
Christ was born, 
When suddenly there rose a mighty 

host 

Of women, sweeping to a central 
goal 
As many rivers sweep on to the sea. 
They came from mountains, valleys, and from 

coasts 
And from all lands, all nations, and all ranks, 
Speaking all languages, but thinking one. 
And that one language — Peace. 

'Listen,' they said, 
And straightway was there silence on the earth, 
For men were dumb with wonder and surprise. 
* Listen, mighty masters of the world, 
And hear the edict of all womankind: 
Since Christ His new commandment gave to 
men, 



100 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

K "Love one another/' full two thousand years 
Have passed away, yet earth is red with blood. 
The strong male rulers of the world proclaim 
Their weakness, when we ask that war shall 

cease. 
Now will the poor weak women of the world 
Proclaim their strength, and say that war shall 

end. 
Hear, then, our edict : Never from this day 
Will any woman on the crust of earth 
Mother a warrior. "We have sworn the oath 
And will go barren to the waiting tomb 
Rather than breed strong sons at war's behest, 
Or bring fair daughters into life, to bear 
The pains of travail, for no end but war. 
Ay! let the race die out for lack of babes: 
Better a dying race than endless wars ! 
Better a silent world than noise of guns 
And clash of armies. 

'Long we asked for peace, 
And oft you promised — but to fight again. 
At last you told us, war must ever be 
While men existed, laughing at our plea 
For the disarmament of all mankind. 



THE EDICT OF THE SEX 101 

Then in our hearts flamed such a mad desire 
For peace on earth, as lights the world at times 
With some great conflagration ; and it spread 
From distant land to land, from sea to sea, 
Until all women thought as with one mind 
And spoke as with one voice ; and now behold ! 
The great Crusading Syndicate of Peace, 
Filling all space with one supreme resolve. 
Give us, men, your word that war shall end: 
Disarm the world, and we will give you sons — 
Sons to construct, and daughters to adorn 
A beautiful new earth, where there shall be 
Fewer and finer people, opulence 
And opportunity and peace for all. 
Until you promise peace no shrill birth-cry 
Shall sound again upon the ageing earth. 
We wait your answer.' 

And the world was still. 
While men considered. 



102 



POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 




THE SPINSTER 

i 
|ERE are the orchard trees all large 
with fruit; 
And yonder fields are golden with 

young grain. 
In little journeys, branchward from 
the nest, 
A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries, 
Urges her young to use their untried wings. 
A purring Tabby, stretched upon the sward, 
Shuts and expands her velvet paws in joy, 
"While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast. 



mighty Maker of the Universe, 

Am I not part and parcel of Thy World, 
And one with Nature? "Wherefore, then, in me 
Must this great reproductive impulse lie 
Hidden, ashamed, unnourished, and denied, 
Until it starves to slow and tortuous death? 

1 knew the hope of springtime; like the tree 



THE SPINSTER 103 

Now ripe with fruit, I budded, and then 

bloomed ; 
We laughed together through the young May 

morns; 
We dreamed together through the summer 

moons ; 
Till all Thy purposes within the tree 
Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast 

heard 
The Woman in me crying for the Man; 
The Mother in me crying for the Child; 
And made no answer. Am I less to Thee 
Than lower forms of Nature, or in truth 
Dost Thou hold Somewhere in another Realm 
Full compensation and large recompense 
For lonely virtue forced by fate to live 
A life unnatural, in a natural world? 

ii 
Thou who hast made for such sure purposes 
The mightiest and the meanest thing that is — 
Planned out the lives of insects of the air 
With fine precision and consummate care; 
Thou who hast taught the bee the secret power 
Of carrying on love's laws 'twixt flower and 
flower ; 



104 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

Why didst Thou shape this mortal frame of 

mine, 
If Heavenly joys alone were Thy design? 
Wherefore the wonder of my woman's breast, 
By lips of lover and of babe impressed, 
If spirit children only shall reply 
Unto my ever urgent mother cry? 
Why should the rose be guided to its own, 
And my love-craving heart beat on alone? 

in 

Yet do I understand; for Thou hast made 
Something more subtle than this heart of me; 
A finer part of me 
To be obeyed. 

Albeit I am a sister to the earth, 
This nature self is not the whole of me; 
The deathless soul of me 
Has nobler birth. 

The primal woman hungers for the man; 
My better self demands the mate of me; 
The spirit fate of me, 
Part of Thy plan. 



TEE SPINSTEB 105 

Nature is instinct with the mother-need; 
So is my heart; but ah, the child of me 
Should, undefiled of me, 
Spring from love's seed. 

And if, in barren chastity, I must 

Know but in dreams that perfect choice of me, 

Still will the voice of me 

Proclaim God just. 



106 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE CURE 

OU may talk of reformations, of the 
Economic Plan, 
That shall stem the Social Evil in 

its course; 
But the Ancient Sin of nations, 
must be got at in the man. 
If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source. 

Ever since his first beginning, Man has had his 
way in lust. 
He has never learned the law of Self-Control ; 
And the World condones his sinning, and the 
Doctors say he must, 
And the Churches shut their eyes, and take $ 



his toll. 






And the lauded 'Lovely Mothers' send the son 
out into life 
With no knowledge-welded armour for the 
fight; 



THE CUBE 107 

'He will make his way like others, through the 
Oat field, to the Wife'; 
'He will somehow be led onward, to the light.' 
Yes, his leaders, they shall find him. On the 
highways at each turn; 
(Since you did not choose to counsel or to 
warn,) 
They shall tempt him, then shall bind him ; they 
shall blight, and they shall burn, 
Down to offspring and descendants yet un- 
born. 

/ It can never end through preaching; it can J 

never end through laws; 

This social sore, no punishment can heal. 

It must be the mother's teaching of the purpose, 

and the cause, 

And God's glory, lying under sex appeal. * 
% • y 

She must feel no fear to name it to the children 

it has brought; 

She must speak of it as sacred, and sublime ; 

She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech 

and by her thought; 

Till they listen, and respect it, for all time. 



108 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

From the heart they rested under ere they saw 
the light of day, 
Must the daughters and the sons be taught 
this truth; 
Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy 
thing alway; 
While love's wisdom guides them safely 
through their youth. 

Oh, the world has made its devil, and the 
Mothers let it grow; 
And the Man has dragged their thoughts 
down to the earth. 
There will be no Social Evil, when each waking 
mind shall know 
All the grandeur and the beauty hid in birth. 

When each Mother sets the fashion to win con- 
fidence, and trust, 
And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control ; 
We can lift the great Sex passion from the 
darkness and the dust, 
And enshrine it on the altar of the soul. 



TEE CREED 109 




THE CREED 

HOEVER was begotten by pure love, 
And came desired and welcomed into 

life, 
Is of immaculate conception. He 
Whose heart is full of tenderness and 
truth, 
Who loves mankind more than he loves himself, 
And cannot find room in his heart for hate, 
May be another Christ. We all may be 
The Saviours of the world, if we believe 
In the Divinity which dwells in us 
And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, 
Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, 
Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all, 
Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns, 
And lends new courage to each fainting heart, 
And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad, 
He, too, is a Redeemer, Son of God. 



110 



POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



THE HEIGHTS 




CEIED, 'Dear Angel, lead me to the 

heights, 
And spur me to the top.' 
The Angel answered, 'Stop 
And set thy house in order; make 
it fair 
For absent ones who may be speeding there; 
Then will we talk of heights.' 



I put my house in order. 'Now lead on!' 

The Angel said, 'Not yet; 

Thy garden is beset 
By thorns and tares; go weed it, so all those 
Who come to gaze may find the unvexed rose; 

Then will we journey on.' 



I weeded well my garden. 'All is done.' 

The Angel shook his head. 

'A beggar stands,' he said, 
* Outside thy gates; till thou hast given heed 



THE HEIGHTS 111 

And soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need, 
Say not that all is done.' 

The beggar left me singing. 'Now at last — 

At last the path is clear.' 

'Nay, there is one draws near 
Who seeks, like thee, the difficult highway. 
He lacks thy courage; cheer him through the 
day; 

Then will we cry, "At last!" ' 

I helped my weaker brother. 'Now the heights; 

Oh, Guide me, Angel, guide!' 

The Presence at my side, 
With radiant face, said, 'Look, where are we 

now?' 
And lo! we stood upon the mountain's brow — 

The heights, the shining heights! 



112 



POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



A MAN'S IDEAL 






LOVELY little keeper of the home, 
Absorbed in menu books, yet erudite 

When I need counsel; quick at 
repartee 

And slow to anger. Modest as a 
flower, 
Yet scintillant and radiant as a star. 
Unmercenary in her mould of mind, 
"While opulent and dainty in her tastes. 
A nature generous and free, albeit 
The incarnation of economy. 
She must be chaste as proud Diana was, 
Yet warm as Venus. To all others cold 
As some white glacier glittering in the sun; 
To me as ardent as the sensuous rose 
That yields its sweetness to the burrowing bee. 
All ignorant of evil in the world, 
And innocent as any cloistered nun, 
Yet wise as Phryne in the arts of love 
When I come thirsting to her nectared lips. 
Good as the best, and tempting as the worst, 
A saint, a siren, and a paradox. 



THE RIVER 113 




THE RIVER 

AM a river flowing from God's sea 
Through devious ways. He mapped 

my course for me; 
I cannot change it; mine alone the 

toil 
To keep the waters free from grime and soil. 
The winding river ends where it began; 
And when my life has compassed its brief span 
I must return to that mysterious source. 
So let me gather daily on my course 
The perfume from the blossoms as I pass; 
Balm from the pines, and healing from the 

grass ; 
And carry down my current as I go 
Not common stones but precious gems to show. 
And tears (the holy water from sad eyes) 
Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise, 
Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts 
Nor poison which the upas tree imparts. 
"When over flowery vales I leap with joy, 



114 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Let me not devastate them, nor destroy, 
But rather leave them fairer to the sight; 
Mine be the lot to comfort and delight. 
And if down awful chasms I needs must leap, 
Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep 
On bravely to the end without one fear, 
Knowing that He who planned my ways stands 

near. 
Love sent me forth, to Love I go again, 
For Love is all, and over all. Amen. 



UNANSWEBED PBAYEBS 115 




UNANSWERED PRAYERS 

| IKE some schoolmaster, kind in being 
stern, 
Who hears the children crying o'er 

their slates 
And calling, 'Help me, master!' yet 
helps not, 
Since in his silence and refusal lies 
Their self-development, so God abides 
Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf 
To any cry sent up from earnest hearts; 
He hears and strengthens when He must deny. 
He sees us weeping over life's hard sums; 
But should He give the key and dry our tears, 
What would it profit us when school were done 
And not one lesson mastered? 

What a world 
Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not 
In famed Pandora's box were such vast ills 
As lie in human hearts. Should our desires, 



116 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Voiced one by one in prayer, ascend to God 
And come back as events shaped to our wish, 
What chaos would result! 

In my fierce youth 
I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet, 
Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons 
Which were denied; and that denial bends 
My knee to prayers of gratitude each day 
Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers 
I rose alway regirded for the strife 
And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad 

heart, 
That which thou pleadest for may not be given, 
But in the lofty altitude where souls 
Who supplicate God's grace are lifted, there 
Thou shalt find help to bear thy daily lot 
Which is not elsewhere found. 



ILLUSION 117 



■■jp^^r^gg^a! 


Wm 


Ml 



ILLUSION 

|0D and I in space alone 

And nobody else in view. 
And where are the people, Lord, ' 

I said, 

'The earth below, and the sky o'er- 
head, 
And the dead whom once I knew?' 

' That was a dream, ' God smiled and said — 

'A dream that seemed to be true. 
There were no people, living or dead, 
There was no earth, and no sky o'erhead; 

There was only Myself — in you.' 

'Why do I feel no fear,' I asked, 

'Meeting You here this way? 
For I have sinned I know full well! 
And is there heaven, and is there hell, 

And is this the judgment day?' 



118 



POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 



1 Nay, those were but dreams/ the Great God 
said, 

'Dreams, that have ceased to be. 
There are no such things as fear or sin, 
There is no you— you never have been — 

There is nothing at all but Me.' 



THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 119 




THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 

ITH brooding mien and sultry eyes, 

Outside the gates of Paradise 

Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame 

That lit the path whence Adam 
came. 

(Strange are the workings of a woman's mind.) 

His giant shade preceded him, 
Along the pathway green, and dim; 
She heard his swift approaching tread, 
But still she sat with drooping head. 
(Dark are the jungles of unhappy thought.) 

He kissed her mouth, and gazed within 
Her troubled eyes ; for since their sin, 
His love had grown a thousand fold. 
But Eve drew back; her face was cold. 
(Oh, who can read the cipher of a soul.) 

1 Now art thou mourning still, sweet wife/ 
Spake Adam tenderly, 'the life 



120 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Of our lost Eden? Why, in thee 
All Paradise remains for me.' 
(Deep, deep the currents in a strong man's 
heart.) 

Thus Eve: 'Nay, not lost Eden's bliss 
I mourn; for heavier woe than this 
Wears on me with one thought accursed. 
In Adam's life I am not first/ 
(0 woman's mind! what hells are fashioned 
there.) 

'The serpent whispered Lilith's name: 

( 'Twas thus he drove me to my shame) 

Pluck yonder fruit, he said, and know, 

How Adam loved her, long ago.' 

(Fools, fools, who wander searching after pain.) 

'I ate; and like an ancient scroll, 

I saw that other life unroll; 

I saw thee, Adam, far from here 

With Lilith on a wondrous sphere.' 
(Bold, bold, the daring of a jealous heart.) 

'Nay, tell me not I dreamed it all; 
Last night in sleep thou didst let fall 



TJSE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 121 

Her name in tenderness; I bowed 
My stricken head and cried aloud.' 
(Vast, vast the torment of a self-made woe.) 

'And it was then, and not before, 
That Eden shut and barred its door. 
Alone in God's great world I seemed, 
Whilst thou of thy lost Lilith dreamed.' 
(Oh, who can measure such wide loneliness.) 

'Now every little breeze that sings, 
Sighs Lilith, like thy whisperings. 
Oh, where can sorrow hide its face, 
When Lilith, Lilith, fills all space?' 
(And Adam in the darkness spake no word.) 



122 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




GOD'S MEASURE 

OD measures souls by their capacity 
For entertaining his best Angel, 

Love. 
Who loveth most is nearest kin to 
God, 
Who is all Love, or Nothing. 

He who sits 
And looks out on the palpitating world, 
And feels his heart swell in him large enough 
To hold all men within it, he is near 
His great Creator's standard, though he dwells 
Outside the pale of churches, and knows not 
A feast-day from a fast-day, or a line 
Of Scripture even. What God wants of us 
Is that outreaching bigness that ignores 
All littleness of aims, or loves, or creeds, 
And clasps all Earth and Heaven in its embrace. 



A BALLADE OF THE UNBORN DEAD 123 




A BALLADE OF THE UNBORN 
DEAD 

|HEY walked the valley of the dead; 
Lit by a weird half light ; 
No sound they made, no word they 
said; 

And they were pale with fright. 
Then suddenly from unseen places came 
Loud laughter, that was like a whip of flame. 

They looked, and saw, beyond, above, 
A land where wronged souls wait; 

(Those spirits called to earth by love, 
And driven back by hate). 

And each one stood in anguish dumb and wild, 

As she beheld the phantom of her child. 

Yea, saw the soul her wish had hurled 

Out into night and death; 
Before it reached the Mother world, 

Or drew its natal breath. 



124 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And terrified, each hid her face and fled 
Beyond the presence of her "unborn dead. 

And God's Great Angel, who provides 

Souls for our mortal land, 
Laughed, with the laughter that derides, 

At that fast fleeting band 
Of self-made barren women of the earth. 
(Hell has no curse that withers like such mirth.) 

'0 Angel, tell us who were they, 

That down below us fared; 
Those shapes with faces strained and grey, 

And eyes that stared and stared; 
Something there was about them, gave us fear ; 
Yet are we lonely, now they are not here.' 

Thus spake the spectral children; thus 

The Angel made reply: 
'They have no part or share with us; 

They were but passers-by.' 
1 But may we pray for them?' the phantoms 

plead. 
'Yea, for they need your prayers,' the Angel 
said. 



A BALLADE OF THE UNBOBN DEAD 125 

They went upon their lonely way; 

(Far, far from Paradise) ; 
Their path was lit with one wan ray 

From ghostly children's eyes; 
The little children who were never born; 
And as they passed, the Angel laughed in scorn. 



126 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 




TO MEN 

IRS, when you pity us, I say 
You waste your pity. Let it stay, 
Well corked and stored upon your 

shelves, 
Until you need it for yourselves. 



We do appreciate God's thought 
In forming you, before He brought 
Us into life. His art was crude, 
But oh, so virile in its rude 

Large elemental strength: and then 
He learned His trade in making men; 
Learned how to mix and mould the clay 
And fashion in a finer way. 

How fine that skilful way can be 
You need but lift your eyes to see ; 
And we are glad God placed you there 
To lift your eyes and find us fair. 



;' 



TO MEN 127 

Apprentice labour though you were, 
He made you great enough to stir 
The best and deepest depths of us, 
And we are glad He made you thus. 

Ay! we are glad of many things. 
God strung our hearts with such fine strings 
The least breath moves them, and we hear 
Music where silence greets your ear. 

We suffer so? but women's souls, 
Like violet powder dropped on coals, 
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh, 
The subtle secrets that we know, 

Of joy in sorrow, strange delights 
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights, 
And mysteries of gain in loss 
Known but to Christ upon the Cross! 

Our tears are pitiful to you? 
Look how the heaven-reflecting dew 
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand 
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand. 

How could your pity find a place 
For us, the mothers of the race? 



128 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Men may be fathers unaware, 
So poor the title is you wear, 

But mothers ? who that crown adorns 

Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns; 
And she whose feet that path hath trod 
Has walked upon the heights with God. 

No, offer us not pity's cup. 
There is no looking down or up 
Between us: eye looks straight in eye: 
Born equals, so we live and die. 



BEINCABNATION 129 




REINCARNATION 

E slept as weary toilers do, 

She gazed up at the moon. 
He stirred and said, 'Wife, come 
to bed'; 

She answered, 'Soon, full soon.' 
(Oh! that strange mystery of the 
dead moon's face.) 

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth 

Was lifted like a cup : 
The moonful night dripped liquid light: 

She seemed to quaff it up. 
(Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.) 

Her life had held but drudgery — 

She spelled her Bible thro; 
Of books and lore she knew no more 

Than little children do. 
(Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.) 

Her youth had been a loveless waste, 
Starred by no holiday. 



130 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And she had wed for roof, and bread; 

She gave her work in pay. 
(Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and 
dear.) 

She drank the night's insidious wine, 

And saw another scene: 
A stately room — rare flowers in bloom, 

Herself in silken sheen. 
(Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide.) 

A step drew near, a curtain stirred; 

She shook with sweet alarms. 
Oh! splendid face; oh! manly grace; 

Oh! strong impassioned arms. 
(Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide!) 

The warm red lips of thirsting love 

On cheek and brow were pressed; 
As the bees know where honeys grow, 

They sought her mouth, her breast. 
(Oh ! the dead moon holds many a dead delight.) 

The sleeper stirred and gruffly spake, 
'Come, wife, where have you been?' 

She whispered low, 'Dear God, I go — 
But 'tis the seventh sin.' 

(Oh, the sad secrets of that orb of white.) 



EECBIMINATION 131 



wmL 



RECRIMINATION 
i 

| AID Life to Death, 'Methinks if I 

were you 
I would not carry such an awesome 

face 

To terrify the helpless human race. 
And if, indeed, those wondrous tales be true 
Of happiness beyond, and if I knew 
About the boasted blessings of that place, 
I would not hide so miserly all trace 
Of my vast knowledge, Death, if I were you. 
But like a glorious angel I would lean 
Above the pathway of each sorrowing soul, 
Hope in my eyes, and comfort in my breath, 
And strong conviction in my radiant mien, 
The while I whispered of that beauteous goal. 
This would I do, if I were you, Death ! ' 

ii 
Said Death to Life, ' If I were you, my friend, 
I would not lure confiding souls each day 



132 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

"With fair false smiles, to enter on a way 
So filled with pain and trouble to the end. 
I would not tempt those whom I should defend, 
Nor stand unmoved and see them go astray. 
Nor would I force unwilling souls to stay 
Who longed for freedom, were I you, my friend. 
But like a tender mother I would take 
The weary world upon my sheltering breast 
And wipe away its tears, and soothe its strife. 
I would fulfill my promises, and make 
My children bless me as they sank to rest 
"Where now they curse — if I were you, Life!' 

in 

Life made no answer ; and Death spoke again : 

'I would not woo from God's sweet nothingness 

A soul to being, if I could not bless 

And crown it with all joy. If unto men 

My face seems awesome, tell me, Life, why then 

Do they pursue me, mad for my caress, 

Believing in my silence lies redress 

For your loud falsehoods?' (So Death spoke 

again.) 
' Oh, it is well for you I am not fair, 
^Well that I hide behind a voiceless tomb 



BECBIMINATION 133 

The mighty secrets of that other place. 
Else would you stand in impotent despair 
While unfledged souls straight from the mother's 

womb 
Rushed to my arms, and spat upon your face. ' 



134 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE GULF STKEAM 

|KILLED mariner, and counted sane 
and wise, 
That was a curious thing which 

chanced to me, 
So good a sailor on so fair a sea. 
With favouring winds and blue unshadowed 

skies, 
Led by the faithful beacon of Love's eyes, 
Past reef and shoal, my life-boat bounded free 
And fearless of all changes that might be 
Under calm waves, where many a sunk rock lies. 

A golden dawn; yet suddenly my barque 
Strained at the sails, as in a cyclone 's blast, 
And battled with an unseen current's force : 
For we had entered when the night was dark 
That old tempestuous Gulf Stream of the 
Past. 
But for love's eyes, I had not kept the 
course. 



A MINOR CHORD 



135 



A MINOR CHORD 




HEARD a strain of music in the 

street — 
A wandering waif of sound. And 

then straightway 
A nameless desolation filled the day. 
The great green earth that had been fair and 

sweet, 
Seemed but a tomb ; the life I thought replete 
"With joy, grew lonely for a vanished May. 
Forgotten sorrows resurrected lay 
Like bleaching skeletons about my feet. 



Above me stretched the silent, suffering sky, 
Dumb with vast anguish for departed suns 
That brutal Time to nothingness has hurled. 
The daylight was as sad as smiles that lie 
Upon the wistful, unkissed mouths of nuns, 
And I stood prisoned in an awful world. 



136 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



THE SQUANDERER 

OD gave him passions, splendid as the 

sun, 
Meant for the lordliest purposes; a 

part 
Of nature's full and fertile mother 

heart, 

From which new systems and new stars are 
spun. 

And now, behold, behold, what he has done ! 
In Folly's court and carnal Pleasures' mart 
He flung the wealth life gave him at the start. 

(This, of all mortal sins, the deadliest one.) 

At dawn he stood, potential, opulent, 
With virile manhood, and emotions keen, 
And wonderful with God's creative fire. 
At noon he stands, with Love's large fortune 
spent 
In petty traffic, unproductive, mean — 
A pauper, cursed with impotent desire. 



PEEPABATION 137 




PREPARATION 

E must not force events, but rather 
make 
The heart soil ready; for their com- 
ing, as 

The earth spreads carpets for the 
feet of Spring, 
Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost, 
Prepares for winter. Should a July noon 
Burst suddenly upon a frozen world 
Small joy would follow, even though that world 
"Were longing for the Summer. Should the sting 
Of sharp December pierce the heart of June, 
What death and devastation would ensue! 
All things are planned. The most majestic 

sphere 
That whirls through space is governed and 

controlled 
By supreme law, as is the blade of grass 
Which through the bursting bosom of the earth 
Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor, puny man 
Alone doth strive and battle with the Force 



138 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone 
Demands effect before producing cause. 
How vain the hope ! We cannot harvest joy 
Until we sow the seed, and God alone 
Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand 
And watch the ground with anxious, brooding 

eyes, 
Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield, 
Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves 
Keeps off the sunlight and delays result. 
Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire 
Doth like a sultry May force tender shoots 
Of half-formed pleasures and unshaped events 
To ripen prematurely, and we reap 
But disappointment; or we rot the germs 
With briny tears ere they have time to grow. 
While stars are born and mighty planets die 
And hissing comets scorch the brow of space, 
The Universe keeps its eternal calm. 
Through patient preparation, year on year, 
The earth endures the travail of the Spring 
And Winter's desolation. I So our souls 
In grand submission to a higher law 
Should move serene through all the ills of life 
Believing them masked joys. 



SIRIUS 139 




SIRIUS 

'Since Sirius crossed the Milky Way, sixty thousand 
years have gone.' — Garrett P. Serviss. 

INCE Sirius crossed the Milky Way 

Full sixty thousand years have gone ; 

Yet hour by hour, and day by day, 

This tireless star speeds on and on. 

Methinks he must be moved to mirth 

By that droll tale of Genesis, 
Which says creation had its birth 

For such a puny world as this. 

To hear how One who fashioned all 
Those Solar Systems, tier on tiers, 

Expressed in little Adam's fall 
The purpose of a million spheres. 

And, witness of the endless plan, 

To splendid wrath he must be wrought 



140 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

By pigmy creeds presumptuous man 
Sends forth as God's primeval thought. 

Perchance from half a hundred stars 
He hears as many curious things; 

From Venus, Jupiter, and Mars, 

And Saturn with the beauteous rings, 

There may be students of the Cause 
"Who send their revelations out, 

And formulate their codes of laws, 

"With heavens for faith and hells for doubt. 

On planets old ere form or place 

"Was lent to earth, may dwell — who knows — 
A God-like and perfected race 

That hails great Sirius as he goes. 

In zones that circle moon and sun, 

'Twixt world and world, he may see souls 

"Whose span of earthly life is done, 
Still journeying up to higher goals. 

And on dead planets grey and cold 

Grim spectral souls, that harboured hate 

Life after life, he may behold 
Descending to a darker fate. 



SIRIUS 141 

And on his grand majestic course 
He may have caught one glorious sight 

Of that vast shining central Source 
From which proceeds all Life, all Light. 

Since Sirius crossed the Milky "Way 
Full sixty thousand years have gone; 

No mortal man may bid him stay, 
No mortal man may speed him on. 

No mortal mind may comprehend 
What is beyond, what was before; 

To God be glory without end, 
Let man be humble and adore. 



142 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



REMEMBEEED 

IS art was loving ; Eros set his sign 
Upon that youthful forehead, and he 

drew 
The hearts of women, as the sun 
draws dew. 
Love feeds love's thirst as wine feeds love of 

wine; 
Nor is there any potion from the vine 
Which makes men drunken like the subtle 

brew 
Of kisses crushed by kisses ; and he grew 
Inebriated with that draught divine. 

Yet in his sober moments, when the sun 
Of radiant summer paled to lonely fall, 
And passion's sea had grown an ebbing 
tide; 
From out the many, Memory singled one 

Full cup that seemed the sweetest of them 
all— 
The warm red mouth that mocked him and 
denied. 



TEE CALL 143 




THE CALL 

N the banquet hall of Progress 
God has bidden to a feast 
All the women in the East. 



Some have said, 'We are not ready ,- 
We must wait another day.' 
Some, with voices clear and steady, 
'Lord, we hear, and we obey/ 

Others, timid and uncertain, 

Step forth trembling in the light. 

Many hide behind the curtain 
With their faces hid from sight. 

In the banquet hall of Progress 
All must gather soon or late, 
And the patient Host will wait. 

If to-day or if to-morrow, 
If in gladness, or in woe, 



144 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

If with pleasure, or with sorrow, 
All must answer, all must go. 

They must go with unveiled faces, 
Clothed in virtue and in pride. 

For the Host has set their places, 
And He will not be denied. 



THE AWAKENING 



145 



THE AWAKENING 




LOVE the tropics, where sun and rain 
Go forth together, a joyous train, 
To hold up the green, gay side of the 

world, 
And to keep earth's banners of bloom 

unfurled. 

I love the scents that are hidden there 
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air: 
Strange and subtle and all arife 
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life. 

They steal upon you by night and day, 
But never a whiff can you take away : 
And never a song of a tropic bird 
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard. 

And nowhere else can you know the sweet 

Soft l joy-in-nothing' that comes with the heat 

Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet, 

If in evergreen worlds my way were set 
10 



146 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

I would span the waters of widest seas 

To see the wonder of waking trees ; 

To feel the shock of sudden delight 

That comes when the orchard has changed in a 

night, 
From the winter nun to the bride of May, 
And the harp of Spring is attuned to play 
The wedding march, and the sun is priest, 
And the world is bidden to join the feast. 

Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime, 
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime, 
That leap o ' the blood, and the rapture thrill, 
That comes to us here, with the first bird's trill; 
And only the eye that has looked on snows 
Can see all the beauty that lies in a rose. 
The lure of the tropics I understand, 
But ho! for the Spring in my native land. 



WHAT LOVE IS 147 




WHAT LOVE IS 

AHASUERAS 

ELL me thy name! 

ESTHER 

My name, great sire, is Esther. 

AHASUERAS 

So thou art Esther ? Esther ! 'tis a name 
Breathed into sound as softly as a sigh. 
A woman's name should melt upon the lips 
Like Love's first kisses, and thy countenance 
Is fit companion for so sweet a name! 

ESTHER 

Thou art most kind. I would my name and face 
Were mine own making and not accident. 
Then I might feel elated at thy praise, 
Where now I feel confusion. 

AHASUERAS 

Thou hast wit 
As well as beauty, Esther. Both are gems 



148 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

That do embellish woman in man's sight. 
Yet there are gems of second magnitude! 
Dost thou possess the one great perfect gem — 
The matchless jewel of the world called love? 

ESTHER 

Sire, in the heart of every woman dwells 
That wondrous perfect gem! 

AHASUERAS 

Then, Esther, speak ! 
And tell me what is love! I fain would know 
Thy definition of that much-mouthed word, 
By woman most employed — least understood. 

ESTHER 

What can a humble Jewish maiden know 
That would instruct a warrior and a king ? 
I have but dreamed of love as maidens will, 
While thou hast known its fulness. All the world 
Loves Great Ahasueras! 

AHASUERAS 

All the world 
Fears great Ahasueras ! Kings, my child, 
Are rarely loved as anything but kings. 



WHAT LOVE IS 149 

Love, as I see it in the court and camp, 
Means seeking royal favour. I would know 
How love is fashioned in a maiden's dreams. 

ESTHER 

Sire, love seeks nothing that kings can bestow. 
Love is the king of all things here below; 
Love makes the monarch but a bashful boy, 
Love makes the peasant monarch in his joy; 
Love seeks not place, all places are the same, 
When lighted by the radiance of love's flame. 
Who deems proud love could fawn to power and 

splendour 
Hath known not love, but some base-born 

pretender. 

AHASUERAS 

If this be love, I would know more of it. 
Speak on, fair Esther! What is love beside? 

ESTHER 

Love is in all things, all things are in love. 
Love is the earth, the sea, the skies above ; 
Love is the bird, the blossom, and the wind ; 
Love hath a million eyes, yet love is blind ; 



150 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

Love is a tempest, awful in its might ; 
Love is the silence of a moon-lit night; 
Love is the aim of every human soul; 
And he who hath not loved hath missed life's 
goal ! 

AHASUERAS 

But tell me of thyself, of thine own dreams! 
How wouldst thou love, and how be loved again ? 

ESTHER 

Who most doth love thinks least of love 's return ; 
She is content to feel the passion burn 
In her own bosom, and its sacred fire 
Consumes each selfish purpose and desire. 
'Tis in the giving, love's best rapture lies, 
Not in the counting of the things it buys. 

AHASUERAS 

Yet, is there not vast anguish and despair 
In love that finds no answering word or smile? 

ESTHER 

So radiant is love, it lends a glow 

To each dark sorrow and to every woe. 

To love completely is to part with pain, 



WHAT LOVE IS 151 

Nor is there mortal who can love in vain. 
Love is its own reward, it pays full measure, 
And in love 's sharpest grief lies subtlest pleasure. 

AHASUERAS 

Methinks, a mighty warrior, lord or king 
Must in thy fancy play the lover's part; 
None else could wake such reverential thought. 

ESTHER 

When woman loves one born of lowly state, 
Her thought gives crown and sceptre to her 

mate; 
Yet be he king, or chief of some great clan, 
She loves him but as woman loves a man. 
Monarch or peasant, 'tis the same, I wis, 
When once she gives him love's surrendering 

kiss, i 



152 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 




LOVE'S SUPREMACY 

S yon great Sun in his supreme con- 
dition 
Absorbs small worlds and makes 
them all his own, 
So does my love absorb each vain 
ambition, 
Each outside purpose which my life has 
known. 
Stars cannot shine so near that vast orb'd 
splendour ; 
They are content to feed his flames of fire : 
And so my heart is satisfied to render 

Its strength, its all, to meet thy strong desire. 

As in a forest when dead leaves are falling 
Save all from some perennial green tree, 

So one by one I find all pleasures palling 
That are not linked with or enjoyed by thee. 

And all the homage that the world may proffer, 
I take as perfumed oils or incense sweet, 



LOVE'S SUPBEMACT 153 

And think of it as one thing more to offer, 
And sacrifice to Love, at thy dear feet. 

I love myself because thou art my lover, 

My name seems dear since uttered by thy 
voice ; 
Yet, argus-eyed, I watch and would discover 

Each blemish in the object of thy choice. 
I coldly sit in judgment on each error, 

To my soul's gaze I hold each fault of me, 
Until my pride is lost in abject terror, 

Lest I become inadequate to thee. 

Like some swift-rushing and sea-seeking river, 

Which gathers force the farther on it goes, 
So does the current of my love forever 

Find added strength and beauty as it flows. 
The more I give, the more remains for giving, 

The more receive, the more remains to win. 
Ah ! only in eternities of living 

Will life be long enough to love thee in. 




154 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



PROTEST 

sin by silence, when we should pro- 
test, 
Makes cowards out of men. The 

human race 
Has climbed on protest. Had no 
voice been raised 
Against injustice, ignorance, and lust, 
The inquisition yet would serve the law, 
And guillotines decide our least disputes. 
The few who dare, must speak and speak again 
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank 

God, 
No vested power in this great day and land 
Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry 
Loud disapproval of existing ills ; 
May criticise oppression and condemn 
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws 
That let the children and childbearers toil 
To purchase ease for idle millionaires. 

Therefore I do protest against the boast 
Of independence in this mighty land. 



PEOTEST 155 

Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted 

link. 
Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave. 
Until the manacled slim wrists of babes 
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, 
Until the mother bears no burden, save 
The precious one beneath her heart, until 
God's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed 
And given back to labor, let no man 
Call this the land of freedom. 



156 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




THE TECHNIQUE OF IMMORTALITY 

HERE hangs a picture on my wall ; 

Three leafless trees; dead woods 
beyond ; 

Brown grasses and a marshy pond ; 
And over all 
An amber sunset of late fall. 

Too frail the artist heart to cope 

With all the stern demands of fame. 
He passed before he won a name, 

Or gained his hope, 

To realms where dreams have larger scope. 

Yet in the modest little square 

Of canvas, that I daily see 

He left a legacy to me 
Of something rare; 
For more than what is painted there. 

For tree and grass and sunset sky 
Hold subtler qualities than art; 
It is the painter's pulsing heart 



THE TECHNIQUE OF IMMORTALITY 157 

That seems to cry, 

"I loved these things — they cannot die." 

And so they live to stir and move 

Each gazer's soul; because they speak 
Of something mightier than technique, 

They live to prove 

The immortality of love. 

They speak this message day by day ; 

"Love, love your work, or small or great; 

Love, love, and leave the rest to fate. 
For love will stay 
When all things else have passed away." 



158 



POEMS OF PROBLEMS 




I WONDER 

READ the morning news, 
Here in this cosy spot, 
And life seems a thing most sweet. 

I wonder would I meet 
The coming day with as glad a 
thought 
Had I toiled all night till the break of the 
dawn 
That the world might know what is going on. 

I read, and rest, and dream; 

Beside the glowing grate. 
And life seems warm and good. 

I wonder if it would, 
Had it happened that mine were the fate 

To dig like a worm in the deep dark mold 
That the world above me might keep off cold. 



Out on the deck I sit, 

While the ship speeds on apace. 



I WONDER 159 

Oh, life is a joy at sea. 

I wonder would it be 
Had it happened that mine were the place 

Down in the hot close hold of the boat 
To stoke the engine and keep it afloat. 

On the flying train I speed 

Off for a holiday; 
And life is a lazy dream. 

I wonder how it would seem 
If I sat while the dark night paled the gray 

Watching the signals with eyes astrain 
And my whole thought bent on guiding the 
train. 

Guardian angels who fill sky spaces, 
Unseen Helpers and Spirit Friends, 

Bless all the toilers in humble places 
On whom the comfort of earth depends. 

And waken the heart of the world till it heed 
Their cry of need. 



160 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 



OMNIPOTENCE 

USING at times on this vast Universe, 
My pigmy self, abashed and mor- 
tified, 
In patient silence, would hence- 
forth abide, 
Nor strive with its poor protest, to disperse 
The seeming shadows from our one small 
world. 
That Power which fashioned mountains, shaped 
the sea, 
And into space a million planets hurled, 
Could have no need of any aid from me. 

The tiniest seed, what mind can understand 
With all its hidden mysteries of bloom — 

The whole grand system, by a Master planned, 
For human interference leaves no room. 

All things move onward to their certain goal; 
"What God conceived, God only can control. 



OMNIPOTENCE 161 

Sudden the old cry breaks upon my ear, 

The protest and appeal of the oppressed! 

Something immortal wakens in my breast, 
And answers to that call, ' ' I hear, I hear ! ' ' 

The burdens of the suffering world seem 
mine 
And mine progression's healthful discontent. 

My greater self proclaims itself divine — 
Knows whence it came, and wherefore it was 
sent. 

"When the first ray pierced through chaotic 
night 

My spirit was conceived by primal force, 
And started on its way to gather light 

And scatter it along earth's troubled course. 
Kin to the sun and sea and wind and sky, 

A part of the Omnipotence am I. 

I am important to the perfect plan, 

And I assist the purpose. As the sun 
Completes the projects by the cause begun, 

So His intentions are worked out by man. 

In the construction of a great machine 

The smallest parts are needed by the whole ; 
11 



162 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

The mighty wheel is held by bolts unseen. 
So in God's earth there is no useless soul. 

We are the means to some majestic end, 

Through us must come the universal good. 

In us the forces of the Maker blend, 

On us depends the larger brotherhood ; 

"With us mankind must journey to the heights — 

Let us go forth, and set God's world to rights! 



INTERLUDE 163 



Wm i 



INTERLUDE 

HE days grow shorter, the nights grow 
longer, 
The headstones thicken along the 
way; 

And life grows sadder but love grows 
stronger 
For those who walk with us, day by day. 

The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower, 
The courage is lesser to do and dare ; 

And the tide of joy in the heart runs lower 
And seldom covers the reefs of care. 

But all true things in the world seem truer, 
And the better things of the earth seem best ; 

And friends are dearer as friends are fewer, 
And love is all as our sun dips west. 

Then let us clasp hands as we walk together, 
And let us speak softly, in love 's sweet tone ; 

For no man knows, on the morrow, whether 
"We two pass by, or but one alone. 



164 Camp and Hearth. 

One flag now waves o'er all our land ; 

No shock of war's alarms, 
Nor hostile raid, nor flaming brand, 

Nor frantic call to arms, 
Disturbs this peaceful valley fair, 

With heaven's bounty blessed : 
From former foeman comes the prayer, 

With fervent lips expressed, 

" God bless the maiden fair and sweet ; 

Let still the flag of love, 
When oft in unison we meet, 

Soar blue and gray above ; 
Be cursed for aye the heart or hand 

That mars its stars or fame, 
Whilst rings forever through the land 

Brave Dolly Harris 1 name." 



A MEMORY. 



To A. 



E'en visions of sin have a moral within, 
Not alone man's merciless master ; 

And lessons of love are gained above 
Prom what had seemed disaster. 

Thus again and again, in the mingled refrain 
Of love, and crime and devotion, 

The woes of the past are leading at last 
To life's omniscient elation : 



Camp and Hearth. 165 

For bright and clear as the morning star 
That dawns on a world benighted, 

O'er conquered fears and vanished tears 
Shine the lamps by Heaven lighted. 

In the morning of life, ere the darkening strife, 

Ere the world proved all untrue, 
Stands an arbor green and the brilliant sheen 

Of the love I had for you: 

A love so wild, as an untamed child, 
Its wealth was given to thee, 

'Neath the dark-green leaves of the walnut groves, 

Where you often roamed with me. 

1868. 



FACES WE MEET. 



In the wildering whirl of the throngs that we meet, 
In the roar and the roll and the tramp of the street, 
There are fates that are marching to join us abreast, 
There are demons and ghouls that will murder our rest ; 

There are angels whose friendships will furnish a balm 
And diffuse through the future a mystical calm: 
They are pressing and crowding and thronging the 

street, 
And they glower or they smile in the faces we meet. 

There are faces that glide 'neath the lamp-light with 
pain 



166 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

(Sweet perfumes left, since Aphrodite's bath.) 
Back in the wooded copse, a whippoorwill 

Gave love's impassioned and impatient call. 

On languorous sands I head the waves' kiss 
fall 
And fall again, so hushed the hour and still. 

Light was my knock upon the door, oh light, 
And yet the sound seemed rude. My pulses 

beat 
So loud they drowned the coming of her 
feet. 

The arrow of her taper pierced the gloom. 

The portal closed behind me. She was there 
Love on her lips and yielding in her eyes 
And but the sea to hear our vows and sighs 

She took my hand and led me up the stair. 



TIME'S GAZE 167 




TIME'S GAZE 

IME looked me in the eyes while 
passing by 
The milestones of the year. That 

piercing gaze 
Was both an accusation and reproach. 
No speech was needed. In a sorrow- 
ing look 
More meaning lies than in complaining words, 
And silence hurts as keenly as reproof. 

Oh, opulent, kind giver of rich hours, 
How have I used thy benefits ! As babes 
Unstring a necklace, laughing at the sound 
Of priceless jewels dropping one by one, 
So I have laughed while precious moment's 

rolled 
Into the hidden corners of the past. 
And I have let large opportunities 
For high endeavour move unheeded by, 
While little joys and cares absorbed my 

strength, 



168 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

And yet, dear Time, set to my credit this : 

Not one white hour have I made black with hate, 

Nor wished one living creature aught but good. 

Be patient with me. Though the sun slants 

west, 
The day has not yet finished, and I feel 
Necessity for action and resolve 
Bear in upon my consciousness. I know 
The earth's eternal need of earnest souls, 
And the great hunger of the world for Love. 
I know the goal to high achievement lies 
Through the dull pathway of self -conquest first ; 
And on the stairs of little duties done 
We climb to joys that stand thy test. Time, 
Be patient with me, and another day, 
Perchance, in passing by, thine eyes may smile. 



UNSATISFIED 



169 



UNSATISFIED 




HE bird flies home to its young; 
The flower folds its leaves about an 

opening bud; 
And in my neighbor's house there 

is the cry of a child; 
I close my window that I need not 

hear. 



She is mine and she is very beautiful; 

And in her heart there is no evil thought. 

There is even love in her heart, 

Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world 

And love of me (or love of my love for her) ; 

Yet she will never consent to bear me a child. 

And when I speak of it she weeps; 

Always she weeps, saying 

"Do I not bring joy enough into your life? 

Are you not satisfied with me and my love 

As I am satisfied with you? 

Never would I urge you to some great peril 



170 POEMS OF PROBLEMS 

To please my whim ; yet ever so you urge me ; 
Urge me to risk my happiness, yea life itself, 
So lightly do you hold me. ' ' And then she weeps 
Always she weeps until I kiss away her tears, 
And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I am 

content. 
Then she goes singing through the house like 

some bright bird; 
Preening her wings; making herself all beau- 
tiful; 
Perching upon my knee, and pecking at my lips 
With little kisses. So again love's ship 
Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea 
From nowhere into nowhere ; and it takes 
Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world. The 

years 
Are passing by us. We will yet be old 
Who now are young. And all the man in me 
Cries for the reproduction of myself 
Through her I love. Why love and youth like 

ours, 
Could populate with gods and goddesses 
This great green earth, and give the race new 

types 
Were it made fruitful. Often I can see 



UNSATISFIED 171 

As in a vision, desolate old age 

And loneliness descending on us two 

And nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the 

earth 
Fruit of my loins and of her womb to feed 
Our hungry hearts. To me it seems 
More sorrowful than sitting by small graves 
And wetting sad eyed pansies with our tears. 

The bird flies home to its young; 

The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud, 

And in my neighbor's house there is the cry of 

a child, 
I close my window that I need not hear. 



172 



POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 



THE ETERNAL NOW 



IME with his back against the mighty 
wall 
"Which hides from view the 
future's joy and sorrow, 
Hears without answer the impatient 
call, 
Of puny man, to tell him of tomorrow. 




Mortal be wise, and to the silence bow; 

These useless and unquiet ways forsaking, 
Concern thyself with the Eternal Now; 

Today holds all things ready for thy taking. 



TEE MILL 



173 



THE MILL 



Great and devastating as are the evils connected with 
child and woman labor in mills and factories, there must 
be many a man and woman who finds happiness in the 
work which these manufactories afford. 

It is to voice the feeling which such toilers experience, 
that this little song is written. And it is sent out with 
confidence that it will be understood and echoed by the 
optimistic laborer who finds in his work a means of 
independence, and an opportunity for the development of 
his energies. 






OMETHING there is in the mill 
whistle blowing 
Sets my blood flowing — 

Stirs me with life. 
Gives me the feeling of being a part 
of it, 
Hand of it, heart of it, 

Ready to plunge in the thick of the strife 
As a strong swimmer goes when the seas are 
rife. 



Many have said there was pain in the call of it ; 
I get the thrall of it; 

Nerved and made strong, 



174 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

My hand reaches out for the work that is wait- 
ing it; 

Loving, not hating it; 

Loving the noise, and the rush, and the 
throng, 

Loving the days as they hurry along. 

Over the moil and the murk and the grime in it, 

Something sublime in it, 
Calls to my soul. 

Some things that speak of the ceaseless en- 
deavor 

For aye and forever, 

Moving the Universe on to its goal, 

And each of us parcel and part of the whole. 

Oh, there is sorrow, injustice and wrong in it; 

But there's a song in it. 
All day I hear 

Over the din and the discord, the thrill of it, 

That's the brave mill of it, 

Doing its work without worry or fear 
And breathing its message of strength in my 
ear. 

Happy, I sing to it ; 
Smiling, I bring to it, 

Patience and love, for the tasks that lie near. 



A WISH 175 




A WISH 

REAT dignity ever attends great 
grief; 
And silently walks beside it. 
And I always know when I meet 
such woe, 
That Invisible Helpers guide it. 
And I know deep sorrow is like a tide, 

It can not always be flowing 
The high water mark in the night and the dark — 
Then dawn, and the outward going. 

But the people who pull at my heartstrings 
hard, 
Are the ones whom destiny hurries 
Through commonplace ways, to the end of their 
days 
And pesters with paltry worries. 
The peddlers who trudge with a budget of 
wares 
To the door that is slammed unkindly; 



176 POEMS OF PBOBLEMS 

The vender who stands with his shop in his 
hands 
Where the hastening hosts pass blindly. 

The woman who holds in her poor flat purse, 

The price of her room rent only; 
"While her starved eye feeds on the comforts 
she needs 
To brighten a lot that is lonely; 
The man in the desert of endless work, 

Unsof tened by islands of leisure ; 
And the children who toil in dust and soil, 
While their little hearts cry for pleasure. 

The people who labor and scrimp and save, 

At the call of some thankless duty, 
And carefully hide with a mantle of pride 

Their ravening hunger for beauty. 
These ask no pity and seek no aid, 

But the thought of them somehow is haunt- 
ing; 
And I wish I might fling at them every thing 

That I know in their hearts they are want- 
ing. 



H 19 85 



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